


Crossroads And Choices

by Hekate1308



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Gen, Post-Reichenbach, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 06:39:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John, trying to figure out how to deal with Sherlock's reappearance, meets the Goddess Hecate. Greek mythology AU, Post-Reunion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossroads And Choices

"Are you going to move out?"

John looked at Sherlock, who was sitting in the kitchen, staring in his microscope. He'd asked the question as if the answer didn't mean much to him, but the doctor could see that his shoulders were tense.

He sighed, then decided to tell him the truth. "I'm contemplating it. Though, to be honest, you should be the one to move out – if I decide I don't want to live with you anymore, that is. After all, this is my flat."

"Our flat".

"I've lived longer in it alone than with you."

"You moved out yourself for a few months."

"Because you were – " he didn't finish the sentence and rubbed his face with his right hand. This was going nowhere.

He stood up from the sofa and walked into the kitchen. "If you hadn't disappeared, I wouldn't even consider moving out..."

Sherlock looked up. "I told you why" he said, quietly.

"Yes, you did. But I still don't understand why you couldn't tell me after a few months."

"You could have betrayed the secret."

"Mycroft knew" John replied, not able to keep the bitterness from his voice. "I would have thought I was as trustworthy as your brother."

Sherlock stood up. "Of course you are. But you have a warmer heart."

John shook his head and walked back into the living room, Sherlock following him.

"John..."

"Sherlock, please – how can I – you returned two weeks ago and turned my life upside down – once again, I might add – and I don't know how to react. I'm happy you're back, I'm angry, I'm relieved, I'm confused – and no amount of logical thinking is going to change that."

Sherlock fidgeted, looking down on the floor. "Is this about Mary?"

"No, Sherlock. To be honest, I don't think that had much of a future anyway... Can you really imagine me with a wife who abhors all action? Plus, if she ends it because I happen to catch one sniper with you..."

Sherlock smirked.

"But..." John bit his lip, realizing he didn't know what to say. So he settled for " I'll go for a walk. I have a decision to make."

Sherlock nodded and returned to his experiment in the kitchen, looking defeated. John grabbed his jacket and went out, his head reeling.

He barely registered the cold. He had to admit that it was definitely easier to walk without a cane – naturally his limp had disappeared as soon as Sherlock had returned.

After three long years.

Three years spent mourning, three years limping around London, wishing for the impossible; three years of girlfriend after girlfriend, finally settling on Mary, even though she couldn't give him the excitement he craved; and –

He had a job at another surgery. He had friends. He had a normal life.

Then Sherlock returned.

He'd missed it, missed him, John couldn't deny that. And yet –

He had built himself something in the last three years. True, it wasn't particularly fulfilling, but it was a life without constant danger. A life he could lead, if he left Baker Street behind. And Sherlock.

He was kidding himself and he knew it.

The real reason he contemplated leaving was that he was still angry, would maybe always be angry, and didn't know if he could ever forgive the consulting detective.

Yet –

Was he ready for a life without Sherlock?

He stopped walking at the next corner and tried to make out the street sign, but it was too dark. A cold wind blew.

He shuddered. "What am I even doing here?" he muttered to himself.

"Trying to come to a decision, I'd say" a voice behind him answered and he turned around startled.

A young woman in her early twenties stood in front of him, wearing, despite of the cold, nothing but a summer dress. She had brown, shoulder-length hair and green eyes and was smiling at him.

John stared at her for a moment, then realized that she wasn't even wearing shoes. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry Miss, do you need help?"

"No. On the contrary, I'm here to help you."

"Help me?" He realized that, a moment ago, he had been alone on the street corner. "You're not even – how did you come here?"

"On the wings of the wind. Very agreeable, and faster than a plane."

The young woman had obviously problems, and she was all alone. John wondered if she had anyone to take care of her, but it hardly mattered anyway: if they let her run away wearing nothing but a summer dress in winter they couldn't be good care-takers anyway.

So he smiled politely and nodded, to make her feel at ease. "I see. So – "

He stopped, because he had the weird feeling that something had changed. After a moment he realized it were the young woman's eyes. They were a different shade of green than two minutes ago.

He shook his head. His mind must be playing tricks on him. Or maybe it was the –

The light. Why hadn't he noticed it before? It had been dark, so dark that he, in fact, had barely been able to make out the houses at the other side of the street. So where did the light suddenly come from? He could see the young woman quite clearly, but there was no light source nearby.

"Don't worry, you are not crazy. It's the light I carry around with me. It's very convenient for reading at night. And my eyes have a tendency to change their colour slightly. But it's always a shade of green, so it shouldn't be too confusing."

Then, as if that explained everything, she took a deep breath and said, "Now to your decision, John".

"How do you – how do you know my name?"

"Comes with the job". She sighed when she saw his look. "Let me guess: you'll need an explanation before we start talking about the problem at hand."

"Would be nice, yeah". John wondered what "problem at hand" she was talking about. After all, he was holding a conversation with a possibly deranged young woman at a street corner that was magically alight.

"Whether or not you'll stay with Sherlock, of course" she answered his thoughts once again, and John resigned himself to hear her explanation.

"I'm Hecate".

She looked at him expectantly, but the name didn't mean anything to him. She shook her head. "Of course. Public school education? How about these words: Zeus, titans, magic..."

"I'm sorry?" John asked, dumbly, trying to figure out what she meant. But wait, hadn't she said –

"Zeus? The Greek God?" something stirred at the back of his mind. "Wait, Hecate – wasn't she a Goddess?"

"She wasn't, she is. I told you, I'm Hecate."

"So you are telling me you are a Greek Goddess".

She beamed. "Exactly!"

He nodded. She was not a little weird, she was completely crazy. He had to get her in a hospital –

"Wouldn't work. I'd just travel on the wings of the wind and be gone".

"Listen" John tried to explain, "I know you think – "

"I told you, I am Hecate."

"Why don't we go – "

"No, we don't!"

Suddenly her presence seemed threatening. There was a gleam in her eyes that spoke of danger, and power. John was certain, without knowing why, that she could do anything she wanted to him, without facing any consequences. He recoiled.

She smiled. "I'm sorry, I forget so easily that to see a power that's thousands of years old can scare people."

John took a deep breath. Maybe she wasn't the mad one. Maybe he had gone crazy.

"Let's just say that, if it makes you feel better. Now, John – "

"Wait. Greek Gods exist?"

"Of course. All Gods exist. What you believe becomes true, if only for you. Belief is what creates Gods."

"But, then – shouldn't you all be gone by now?"

"Belief is something that can never entirely leave the world once it has been born, John. There are still people out there who believe in ghosts and witches; so the belief in us survives still, if only in the hearts of a few."

"Alright..." John replied slowly. He could have laughed at the craziness of the situation, but ever since she had shown him... that look... he was afraid. He couldn't tell what she possibly might do, but he was scared, nonetheless.

"If you don't mind me asking – what is your job?"

"My job?"

"You know, you were all assigned a certain – "

"Oh, it's a little complicated. I'm responsible for a lot of things. Magic, for instance. Or, more importantly, in your case – crossroads."

"Crossroads?" John looked around. Since they stood at a street corner, one could argue that they were standing at a crossroad, but other than that...

"Think, John, think. What are choices but crossroads in real life? You can travel one way or the other."

"Yes, yes, I understand – I mean I think I understand – so you are here to... help me make a choice."

"Correct".

She nodded.

"By giving me advice?"

"Oh, no, that's not how it works. Gods don't give opinions."

John, remembering the Trojan War, responded, "You used to, though, didn't you?"

"And look how well that ended."

"I suppose you're right". John thought for a moment. "So, magic and crossroads? Are you going to – show me the consequences of my decision?"

She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "What do you think this is? A Christmas story by Charles Dickens?"

"You know Charles Dickens?"

"Of course – I assisted him in his decision whether to propose marriage to Catherine Hogarth". She paused. "In hindsight, he could have come to a better decision."

"So what do you do then?"

She smiled and touched his breast.

In the next moments – or it could have been hours, John wasn't sure – he saw his life with Sherlock. From their first meeting to Sherlock's return. And he realized that all the anger, the pain, the hurt –

It paled in comparison to the happiness he'd known with Sherlock in his life.

The happiness he'd know again, because he'd not move out. He'd stay at 221B, and solve crimes with Sherlock. Forever, if possible.

It was the easiest decision he'd ever made.

He looked at Hecate, who was smiling pleasantly again, but the gleam in her eyes was back. The gleam that spoke of wisdom and danger, power and truth. "See? It wasn't so difficult after all."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"I've often made choices in my life; why did you only come today?"

She waved a hand. "I'm a Goddess. I can't help everyone with their small significant choices. I stick to the important ones."

"Like helping a writer decide whether to marry or not?"

"He wasn't just any writer. Anyway, my job here is done. Greet Sherlock for me, will you?"

And with that, she was gone. John shook his head, almost as if waking up from a trance, and realized that he was still standing on the once more dark corner. It didn't take him long to find out where he was, and he almost ran back to Baker Street.

"Sherlock!" he opened the door and found his friend sitting on the sofa, violin in hand.

"Yes, John?"

"You might not believe me – in fact, I know you won't – but I just met a Greek Goddess."

"Hecate? Brown hair, green eyes?"

John stared at him. "How did you know that?"

Sherlock stood up. "She helped me with a decision once. Whether to tell you or not. That I survived, I mean".

John swallowed. He should have known. "She sends her greetings."

Sherlock smirked. "How nice of her." He looked at the floor. "John..."

"I'm not leaving. I'm staying. And no stand still, because there's something I have to do that I have not yet done".

Sherlock apparently expected him to punch him, so John's hug threw him a little off-balance. He hugged back, though, and did so gladly.

"Sherlock?" John's voice sounded muffled, since his face was pressed against Sherlock's shirt.

"Yes?"

"Do you think it possible that Aphrodite may pay us a visit?"

They both laughed, John disentangled himself and went to make tea. Sherlock started playing a lively tune on his violin, smiling.

Things were back to normal. Or as normal as they could be, under these circumstances.


End file.
